


Kin and Kindling

by Grandoverlord



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Into The Wild era, Lineage AU, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 12:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandoverlord/pseuds/Grandoverlord
Summary: “So you’re like me,” Firepaw says, placing his words carefully. “Alone, in a way.” He dips his head and looks at the ground “Do you miss the past, at all?” His voice is quiet. “Before you were a medicine cat? Do you miss the world before?”Spottedleaf takes a shaky breath. She knows what Firepaw is asking. “Yes, Firepaw, sometimes I do.”





	Kin and Kindling

The stars, as always, are silent-- but the sky rages tonight. 

Spottedleaf slips into her den. She does her best to keep it dry in here, but you can’t tell the rain from the rock out there. Shaking what she can of the storm from her fur, she trudges towards her nest and towards what she knows will be another sleepless night. 

The dreams come often now-- infuriating flashes of blood and fire. It’s never useful. She just wakes up with her hackles raised and a new voice to haunt her day.  _ Fire _ , she thinks.  _ The world aflame-- and I will be the first to go _ . 

The dreams do not tell her that in so many words, but she can feel it. Spottedleaf is fated to die. 

Laying her head on her paws, she lets out a sigh. There’s nothing you can do when StarClan decides-- but she wishes that just this once, she could ask them  _ why.  _ She has seen so much death in this den that sometimes she smells the acrid taint of fester on the walls. Maybe, in a way, it will be a relief. All this pain will be someone else’s

But kits won’t just stop coughing when she dies. ThunderClan will suffer without a medicine cat. 

She doesn’t hear the pawsteps over the rain, but she does catch his scent. 

Firepaw, eyes wide and pelt still kittypet-soft, pokes a soaked head into her den. “Hello, Spottedleaf,” he meows. Her whiskers twitch in amusement at the note of trepidation in his voice. 

“Firepaw,” she greets him. 

He starts on a step in-- hesitates. Firepaw dips his head and meets Spottedleaf’s eyes. “Is it okay if I...come in here a little while?” He asks.

“You don’t have to ask permission to see the medicine cat.” Spottedleaf sees the reluctance locked in his hovering paw. “Of course you can come in.” Given permission, he skitters in, fur fluffed against the cold. “Although I’m surprised you’re not hiding in your den like the rest of us,” she meows. 

Firepaw breaks her gaze. “Dustpaw filled my nest with mud again,” he says. “He keeps saying something about dirty blood-- I don’t really understand it.” His nose crinkles. “But I thought your den might be nicer than sleeping in dirt.” 

“Grateful as I am that you think so highly of me--” And Firepaw’s eyes go wide, semi-mortified, “--Dustpaw can’t keep doing that. Have you told…?” 

“I’m not telling Bluestar,” Firepaw interjects. “I can’t let everyone think that I run to her to solve all my problems. I can’t let them think I’m weak.” 

Spottedleaf tilts her head to the side, re-evaluating Firepaw. He’s still soft, yes, but she can see the iron in his eyes, the root of him. “I think that’s wise,” she says, after a moment. 

“Really?” Firepaw meows. “Graypaw said I was being a stubborn mousebrain.” 

“Sometimes it’s best to do things yourself. But don’t forget-- if you do need them, your Clan is there behind you.” 

“Some of them, anyway.” Firepaw’s eyes flash. “Dustpaw’s not the only one who has a problem with me.” His tail flicks at the cave floor, stirring scraps of leaf and dust together. “I’ll prove them wrong, though-- I’ll be a better warrior than Dustpaw’ll ever be.” 

_ Where was this resilience in me, when I was an apprentice? _ Spottedleaf wonders. The sore spot in her heart gives a pang at the thought. “You have to understand,” she murmurs. “That the Clans are proud. Too much so, sometimes. They’re proud of their clanmates, of their skills, but mostly of their blood-- and to some of them, it’s hard to accept someone who doesn’t have that.” 

“I don’t  _ get _ it,” Firepaw says. “It just doesn’t-- it doesn’t  _ matter. _ ” 

“If you want to stay, you’ll have to learn to understand it, even if you don’t accept it.” 

“There’s no  _ if, _ ” Firepaw snaps. He takes a step back, his wet tail falling between his legs. “Sorry-- I didn’t mean--” 

“My mistake.” Spottedleaf tips her head. “Let me think for a moment, how best to explain it.” She flicks her tail towards one of the dry nests she keeps for patients. “Why don’t you sit down?” 

Firepaw nods too quickly and settles himself in the moss. 

“To the Clans, blood isn’t just what runs through your veins. Every cat has blood, of course,” she explains. “But only certain cats have Clan blood. And that’s  _ different. _ For many of us, it’s what makes us who we are.” 

She nods at Firepaw. “Haven’t you noticed that you look different from the others? Smaller shoulders, lighter paws, a rounder face-- our appearances come from the blood, and it’s those traits that let us thrive. Tigerclaw could never be a WindClan warrior; he’s just not built for it.” 

“If I train, though, I can get stronger,” Firepaw protests. “I hunt as well as Graypaw, now-- he’s not just better because he’s Clanborn.” 

Spottedleaf weighs this. “That’s true. Hard work and natural talent can do a lot to bridge the gap there, but lineage has a deeper meaning than the size of your paws,” she says. 

Firepaw shakes his head, but he doesn’t interrupt. 

“The Clans believe that there’s a bit of our ancestors in all of us. If that’s true, then blood  _ does _ matter-- for those with kind ancestors will act kindly, those who have led will lead again-- does that make sense?” 

“And those whose ancestors have done bad things, what about them?” His brows knits and he frowns. 

“That’s complicated.” Firepaw has a way of asking the worst questions. 

“Cats aren’t their kin,” Firepaw protests. “Or their mentors, or anyone else-- they’re themselves.” He draws his back straight. “If I were my mother, I’d be in a twoleg den right now, eating hard food out of a bowl. But I’m not,” He declares. 

“No,” Spottedleaf says softly, “You’re not.” 

“So where does that leave me?” Firepaw shrinks again. To not know your place in the clan, to have no kin to fall back on, no names to add force behind your own-- it’s a hard path for a warrior to walk. Especially one with the raw energy of Firepaw; he’ll want to throw himself into this clan, and she worries for a moment that they won’t let him. 

“You are unique,” she finally manages. 

Firepaw sighs. “I’m alone.” 

He doesn’t seem to want to say much after that, so Spottedleaf gives him space. She slithers deeper into her den to take another look through her herb store, see if she has anything to calm his nerves. While she’s in there, her eyes go bright in the dark. An idea. 

She snatches a bundle of herbs in her mouth. “Firepaw!” She mumbles, barely able to get her mouth around the words. He looks up as she trots back into the main den. Spottedleaf places the herbs on the ground and meets the apprentice’s eyes, her tail curved victoriously above her back. 

“Firepaw,” She says again, more clearly this time. “Can you come here, please? I need some help.” 

He gets to his feet slowly, reluctantly-- but he does, and he walks over as requested. 

She nods to the various leaves she’s strewn on the ground. “These got all mixed up in the storeroom. Would you be able to help me separate them out again?” 

“I don’t--” Firepaw shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about herbs.” 

“You don’t need to! Just use your nose.” 

Spottedleaf starts to work through the scattering of leaves and flowers, placing the tansy by the entrance and the dock by the store. Other herbs make their ways into various piles-- but this she can do on automatic; as she moves, she keeps an eye on Firepaw. 

“I’m going to check that nothing else has been mixed up,” Spottedleaf declares. “You keep going.” 

She pushes into the next room and waits what she hopes is an adequate amount of time before emerging, eager eyes scanning the earth for signs of success. 

There’s little to be found. He’s put astringent nettle with sharp catmint, tansy with elderflower-- not hard mistakes to make, especially in the dark, but telling nonetheless. Firepaw must notice Spottedleaf deflate, because his face lights with concern. “Did I do it wrong?” He asks. His paws chew the earth. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Spottedleaf says, but she can’t keep a note of sadness out of her voice. “Nothing that’s your fault, anyway.” She picks over to the piles and sorts them out properly. Firepaw doesn’t ask questions until she’s finished. 

“Thank you for your help.” Spottedleaf rests her muzzle on Firepaw’s head for a moment to show him that she means it. “I know it’s hard to smell the differences between the herbs in this den.” 

“Then why did you ask me to?” Firepaw says, more curious than accusatory. 

Spottedleaf’s ears push back in embarrassment. “I wanted to see if-- maybe if you were cut out to be a medicine cat.” Firepaw looks just short of offended at the idea, but Spottedleaf can’t help but wish that she’d been right.

“It would be easier if you were.” 

Firepaw looks around at the stacks of herbs, his face twisting with doubt. “It doesn’t seem like it.” 

“There’s a lot to learn, but warrior training is nothing to sniff at either, if I remember it correctly,” Spottedleaf says. She doesn’t miss the gleam in Firepaw’s eyes at that, but he holds himself back this once. She’s grateful for it. “But it would make things...simpler.” 

“How?” Firepaw shakes his head. 

“Who are my parents, Firepaw?” Spottedleaf meets his gaze. 

“I don’t...know,” he admits. 

“And my ancestors?” 

He shakes his head again, mute. 

“My kits?” 

“You don’t have any!” Firepaw pipes up, glad to know the answer to at least one of her questions. “Medicine cats aren’t allowed.” 

Spottedleaf nods. “Just like we have no connections to kits, we have no connections to  _ any _ kin-- we can’t be distracted. All of the posturing, all the blood and claims to greatness, we get to avoid it all.” 

Firepaw cocks his head to the side, sizing up Spottedleaf. “Was Redtail your brother?” 

A chill ripples along Spottedleaf’s spine. Her fur bristles before she can stop it, and she forces herself to stare at the wall until it lies flat again. 

“Yes,” she manages. 

A flash of pride jumps across Firepaw’s face, replaced by concern. He’s young, Spottedleaf reminds herself. He doesn’t know. 

“I thought so,” Firepaw says. “It must be hard to lose kin like that.” 

“Redtail stopped being my kin.” 

Firepaw takes a step forward, indignant. “You can’t just  _ unmake _ a brother, because you chose a different  _ role _ than him. This whole thing-- it’s unfair-- that’s--he was--” Firepaw sputters. “Your  _ brother! _ ”

Spottedleaf slides her gaze to the apprentice. He stills under it, feeling the ice beneath her warm green eyes. She’s long learned to cease the creeping spring of sadness in her; letting looes the leafbare inside herself, she lets cold sweep it over until all is frozen and still. 

That doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt. It just means that eventually, it stops. 

“Not anymore.” 

Firepaw is quiet for a moment, and Spottedleaf focuses on the thrum of rain into camp. The forest needed this rain. With rain, the fire might be stayed. Perhaps, with this, they would gain a moon. 

“So you’re like me,” Firepaw says, placing his words carefully. “Alone, in a way.” He dips his head and looks at the ground “Do you miss the past, at all?” His voice is quiet. “Before you were a medicine cat? Do you miss the world before?” 

Spottedleaf takes a shaky breath. She knows what Firepaw is asking. “Yes, Firepaw, sometimes I do.” 

She lays her tail on his shoulders. “I was safe, then, and some things were easier. I was not so alone then. But,” she says, and this she says with a smile, soft with memory. “The path a medicine cat walks is not so lonely as you might think. I’ve always thought it was built on love.” 

Firepaw’s shoulders tighten, but his ears twitch. He’s listening. 

“The reason we don’t have kin is so that we don’t show preference, that we don’t love one more than the rest. Do you know what that means to me?” 

Still tense, Firepaw shakes his head. 

“It means that because I cannot love one above the others, I’ve learned to love them all. From bristly Sandpaw to sweet Dappletail, I care for them all as I would my own. The Clan have become my kin-- all of them.” 

“All of them?” Firepaw asks, his eyes wide with the unspoken end to his question--  _ even me? _

“All of them.” 

Firepaw straightens up a bit, the tension rolling out of his shoulders-- not entirely, but it’s a start. 

“All of ThunderClan,” he murmurs. “What about the rest?” 

Spottedleaf is caught off guard. “The rest?” 

“The other Clans.” 

“I don’t know them,” she says. She has to be careful here. “But medicine cats will never turn down a cat in need, no matter their allegiance.” 

Firepaw nods, resolute. Determination flares in his eyes, simple and ardent. “I think I understand,” he says. “I think I get it.” He turns. “Thank you, Spottedleaf.” 

The rain pounds the muddy earth, turning rock to river. “Where are you going?” She asks. 

“I’m going to talk to my friends,” he says. “And to tell Graypaw not to retaliate.” 

“Small steps.”

“Small steps,” Firepaw affirms. Then he flicks his tail and pads away. 

Something warms in Spottedleaf’s chest. For all the pain and loss and grief that she’s weathered in these moons, there’s something special from being the one to heal a wound. She puts the right herbs, the right words into place, and time does the rest. 

Maybe StarClan will let her linger, be a messenger to set paws aright. She still wants to heal. Her paws itch for it, her heart strains-- it is not fair that StarClan is taking this from her, but perhaps it’s not the end.

Spottedleaf will keep her Clan steady, this life or the next. The storm rages, but her heart, for once, is calm. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I would like to set down for the record that this interaction is wholly platonic and I see Spottedleaf more as a mentor figure here than a romantic one, given how young Firepaw is. 
> 
> But! I was given the lineage prompt here (wherein blood is very important to the clans!) and I thought exploring it through two disconnected characters could be interesting. I also headcanon that this interaction is part of what sets Firepaw down the path of kindness that he's so committed to later, in helping WindClan and his general compassion. He thinks of all of ThunderClan as his kin-- or he tries to, anyway. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please do leave a comment if there was something you enjoyed or want to talk about! I'll be sure to reply :3


End file.
